Ch.48005 Investigation Record – The Sword Thief of the National Museum (3)

I thought a person’s death would always be horrifying… but I didn’t feel that from his death.

Was it because of his dignity, or his calmness? I couldn’t easily find an answer. Perhaps it was due to his haggard appearance. He seemed at peace only in the moment of death.

After wrapping up the urgent matters and giving my name and address to the officer, I leave the apartment. Though there was some commotion when the police arrived, the apartment building seemed largely indifferent to his death.

Before getting into Paulina’s car, I take one last look at the apartment where he had been. I recall his haggard appearance and the barren room with nothing but that drawer.

I approach the officer guarding the entrance. Some angel officers were this stoic and mechanical, but they did their jobs well, so it wasn’t something to worry about.

“I understand you’re a witness. Do you have anything else to report? Information about the case is still…”

“No, no! I just wanted to ask if you could contact me if that veteran ends up going to the public morgue as an unclaimed person. I could cover his funeral expenses.”

Am I overstepping? It wouldn’t be difficult to get funeral expenses from my family home. There’s a branch of my father’s company in New York, and I could get the money within an hour if I contacted them.

But the angel officer shakes his head. It seems I won’t need to take action myself.

“That won’t be necessary. Since he’s a veteran, the Veterans Association will be notified… and since he’s from a well-known unit like the Argonne Invincibles, the city might arrange a funeral for him. We’ll contact you when the funeral date is set. Is that sufficient?”

The name Argonne Invincibles keeps coming up. I knew they were remarkable people, but… still, his movements at the museum were unnaturally extraordinary.

A person can’t jump high enough to leap over someone else’s head. A person can’t strike a shield that forcefully and remain unharmed. A person can’t run that fast.

Something occurs to me, so I tug at Paulina’s gray suit lapel. Though her long bangs completely covered her eyes, I could tell she was looking at me properly as she turned her head.

“Paulina. You went downstairs briefly that day, right? What did you say you were doing then? I mean…”

“I was checking the emergency stairs… no, the emergency ladder. I went to put it back up since it was down, and that’s how the detective broke in. Could it be related to the sword thief?”

Paulina naturally connected the detective and the sword thief in her thinking. Someone with the agility of the sword thief could have jumped up to grab the ladder that was pulled all the way up.

“It must be related. And, there were medals and rank insignia cut in half in that drawer in his home. There was also a unit emblem cut in half… Maybe it’s related to the military? Like, maybe the detective was also from the Argonne Invincibles… No, first I need to find out who the Argonne Invincibles are!”

I knew the Argonne Invincibles were extraordinary people, but I didn’t know anything beyond that.

Still, I knew where to start looking. There was a large Veterans Association building in downtown New York.

At first, I heard it was built with the blood money of soldiers who died on the battlefield, but after many veterans started visiting, people stopped criticizing it.

“Alright, let’s go to the Veterans Association building right away! If we tell them what happened today, I’m sure they’ll help us!”

Paulina didn’t object, and we headed straight to the Veterans Association building in downtown New York. I could see Fifth Avenue, where I had been attacked, in the distance, and I placed my hand over my racing heart to calm it.

I felt like I was accumulating bad memories in this beautiful city of the Golden Age. The ordinary outskirts of New York became the place where the Cowboy died, and the bustling downtown became the place where I was attacked.

Still, remember! With just one torchbearer, you can pierce through even the darkest night. Be the one who holds the torch. Be the one who illuminates. I pat my cheeks and reaffirm my determination.

I knock on the tightly closed door of the Veterans Association building, built in the shape of the God-President’s temple with the intention that the dead find peace and the returned find rest.

The peephole in the door opens, and the eye that appears looks at Paulina before looking down at me after she points her finger downward. The peephole was a bit… just a bit too high.

“Who is it? This place is only for veterans unless it’s an open day…”

Should I pretend to know something? The sword thief asked Paulina a password, something like “Have you been baptized with the blood of the lamb?” No, no. I can’t deceive veterans.

“I’m from Golden Age Press…”

“We don’t do interviews or coverage. Why can’t people leave us alone? Some people tremble just at the sight of camera flashes, so why would we…”

“No, I can leave my camera outside. You see, I was at the museum for coverage when I saw a veteran from the Argonne Invincibles involved in a crime. As someone who witnessed it firsthand, I felt I should inform you of his passing, and there’s something strange about it… There are things I’d like to ask. Would that be alright?”

When I spoke honestly, the eye in the peephole didn’t show hostility. After the peephole closed, a small door in the temple door opened. The large door would only open on public days.

As the door opened, a human in his thirties with an ominous aura similar to the detective or the sword thief greeted us.

His angular movements, neatly arranged black hair, and brown eyes gave the impression of someone somewhat authoritative, but I could feel him trying to soften his expression. He must be a good person.

“You may come in. Just leave your camera at the entrance. And the rest of your belongings too. That’s acceptable, right?”

“Of course!”

I leave my belongings and Paulina leaves her shield at the entrance as we enter. The inside of the Veterans Association building was… somehow filled with unconventional interior elements.

First, there was a hall-like space for meetings just inside, with completely fixed stone tables arranged haphazardly, and the spaces between them weren’t very wide, making it difficult to pass through.

For someone as large as Paulina, her thighs would catch on the tables occasionally, making me wonder why the furniture was arranged this way.

Nevertheless, the veteran who let us in moved through the spaces with familiarity. If he was used to it, that was fine… Anyway, we pass through the meeting hall.

Beyond that was a space that seemed almost private. Perhaps because young veterans were all living their own lives, there were only a few old soldiers and retired veterans, who welcomed us warmly.

We are guided to where a group of veterans had gathered. They offer us two chairs, and as Paulina and I sit down facing each other, about twenty pairs of eyes slowly scan us.

“Could you tell us what happened first? Even though we say Argonne Invincibles… there weren’t that many of us, so we might know who it was. Originally we were a battalion, but as we were isolated and eaten away by artillery fire, we shrank to almost company size, but somehow we broke through the encirclement and returned, after which we were used in propaganda under the name Argonne Invincibles.”

So there aren’t thousands of such people. With a sigh of relief at that thought, I explain what happened today.

I tell them how he stole the Hexenbane sword and fled, what he said, what prayer he made… and how he took his own life, carefully considering each word as if editing an article.

I didn’t relay his entire prayer to his former comrades, thinking it might not be right to tell them too much about his final moments, and I didn’t describe in detail how he died.

The dead are more silent than closed lips. When I convey words incorrectly, they cannot refute by saying, “I didn’t say that.” Isn’t that somewhat terrible?

So, the living must speak earnestly. The veterans from the Argonne Invincibles who were quietly listening to me exchange glances. One of them gets up, takes a register, and goes to make a phone call.

“It’s Christopher. I don’t know what happened, but if it weren’t for you, we would have found out only after receiving a late notification. Thank you. Ah, you said you’re a journalist, right? Did you… take his picture?”

“Oh, no! No! I didn’t take pictures of the deceased! I’m not the kind of journalist who sells pictures of corpses…”

As I frantically wave my hands, the veteran who guided us here quietly shakes his head. His kind face seemed to suggest he already knew that much.

“I mean when he was alive. If you were there when he came to steal the sword, you must have been there expecting him to come. Such coincidences don’t happen.”

I’m relieved… I’m grateful not to be under strange suspicion. I slowly smooth my chest and nod.

“Yes! I thought he was definitely a criminal, so I took one picture to tell you I already had his face on camera. Perhaps, could I develop…”

“There’s a darkroom inside the building that we use to develop documentary photos. Could you develop it there? We have something to check too. And, comrades will gather… could you explain once more? In return, we’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

I had no intention of making a deal, but since they kindly offered, there was no reason to refuse. I nod vigorously, then bring only the film without the camera and develop the photo in the darkroom.

While waiting for the photo to develop, quite a few former soldiers gathered at the Veterans Association building. They had various occupations, so their attire was diverse.

There were former soldiers who looked like bank employees, ordinary office workers… even someone who looked like a lawyer carrying a shield, but no detective. Is the detective not a member of the Argonne Invincibles?

As they entered and added vitality to the Veterans Association building, I look around.

Around where the Argonne Invincibles members were sitting, books were messily piled up.

They were books about a ritual called the Golden Bough, written by a British scholar. With bookmarks and notes inserted throughout, as if they had been thoroughly read and understood, they were definitely not read merely for interest.

Watching the former soldiers enter, I could also understand the answer to the password the sword thief had asked Paulina. But I won’t use it. It didn’t seem like words meant for me.

The answer to the question “Have you been baptized with the blood of the lamb?” is “That was never a lamb.” Not the blood of a lamb… And, that bound… An ominous premonition arose, but I swallowed it.

The veteran who had been on the phone returns and speaks briefly to the one who guided me inside. His tone wasn’t stiff.

“Michael and a few others aren’t answering their phones. What are they doing at a time like this…”

“They must be working. He’s a busy fellow. Hardly ever at home. The others… Anyway, young journalist. You haven’t forgotten our request for you to explain again, have you?”

Ah, um. I should have asked if this veteran named Michael was a detective, but I missed the opportunity. Deciding to explain first, I give a slightly more polished explanation than before.

The sight of the regiment members gathered here quietly closing their eyes and offering silent prayers in remembrance was somehow heartwarming. This was the kind of respect I had hoped the Cowboy would receive.

However, they pulled out a bottle of strong liquor from inside a drawer. Should I bring up Prohibition? I mumble quietly, moving only my lips.

“Ah, that…”

“Don’t worry. It’s older than Prohibition. Prohibition only restricts newly made and sold items, doesn’t it? And can a law that prevents us from commemorating our comrades be considered a proper law?”

It was an argument I couldn’t refute. The God-President wanted us to be humane and happy, so He would surely overlook this!

“And, if you’re a dry person… you can have a drink today. Would you join us in the commemoration?”

I feel like I’ve finally met someone who asks me to do what I want to do. I take a deep breath and nod vigorously. With a somewhat guilty feeling, a small glass is placed in my hand, and I watch as liquor is poured into it.

The veteran who guided me raises his glass first. The eulogy was very simple.

“Believing in what he would have achieved.”

The gathered veterans nodded in response and then drank their glasses of liquor. Perhaps because of the solemn atmosphere, I felt like I didn’t belong.

For the first time, I put liquor on my tongue and swallowed it past my throat. It was so full of burning heat that I almost spat it out, but I managed to swallow it.

More than anything, it was too bitter! The woody aroma was also too strong… It probably wasn’t a good drink for elves, but thinking of it as a commemoration, I drank it all.

Paulina was nodding maturely as if it was a very good drink, which made me feel a bit flushed, thinking my reaction was too immature.

No, no. This isn’t the time to be embarrassed. The development should be done by now, so I went into the darkroom and brought the photo. I show the veterans the picture of him blocking Paulina’s swinging shield. The photo was very clear, without any blurred parts. It was clear enough to show the desperation in his facial expression.

As they pass the photo around, they clench their fists, nod vigorously, or brighten up as if celebrating a friend’s success. What’s going on? Was something captured in the photo that I didn’t see?

Such expressions when someone has died… No, no. That veteran also had a very dignified and elated expression. As if he had been liberated from something, from a ritual. I cautiously speak up.

“Um… Christopher, was it? That veteran said he freed himself from a ritual with the Hexenbane…”

I was worried the atmosphere might suddenly turn cold, but the response was calm. They all said similar things, as if it was something they all knew.

“He was captured as a prisoner and had ritual markings drawn on his body before he barely escaped. The ritual was so powerful that he kept suffering… That’s probably why he stole the Hexenbane. We searched through the Golden Bough to see if there was anything we could do to help, but there was no improvement. In that situation, isn’t it something to be happy about that he chose to become a free man himself?”

Something was strange. Even so, dying should be a sad thing. These people seemed to be talking about… something else. It’s a lie. I can feel it.

“By any chance, where was the ritual marking…”

I didn’t tell them where the sword thief stabbed himself to end his life. Perhaps thinking I wouldn’t know, he lied.

“Most rituals require a large space. It was a ritual engraved on his back. It was so deep that it was engraved into his bones and marrow. What you saw was his liberation, in a sense. Ah, I’ll keep my promise. What do you want to ask?”

These people are hiding something. Should I dig deeper? I mean… should I do that to people who fought for us? I wasn’t sure, but there was one thing I wanted to ask.

“I want to hear about the Argonne Invincibles! Honestly, I only knew the propaganda songs. If I could know more about what kind of people you are, I think I could honor the deceased better.”

It was a decent excuse, I think! Though I probably should have added “maybe” again…